


They'd Been Happy

by nicolai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Gay, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentors, Oral Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Thinking of someone else, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicolai/pseuds/nicolai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sorting Hat sees that a new student is having some emotional problems and decides to tell Dumbledore. Dumbledore strikes up a mentor relationship with the boy and provides a lot of personal attention. This attracts some negative attention and Snape decides to talk to him about it. They work together to help the student deal with his unsupportive family. Later, Snape and Dumbledore have sex, both thinking of who'd they'd rather be with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Albus?” a soft, clipped voice brought the daydreaming headmaster back from his thoughts as he sat at his desk, wrinkled fingers resting on his temples, contemplating how best to address a minor situation brought to him by the caretaker. 

“Yes?” he looked around, quite surprised as he’d been relatively alone in his office; Fawkes was there, of course, but the phoenix didn’t have a habit of addressing him verbally. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” came the voice again, this time he noted direction. 

Rising from his seat, Dumbledore pushed his long grey hair back from his face and placed his hat back on his head. He walked ‘round the desk and over to a shelf that he couldn’t see easily from his chair. There he found the sorting hat, sitting up, ready to talk, as though for the ceremony- not at all like the common piece of felt it seemed on all other days of the year. 

“Sorting was yesterday, old friend. Why do you want to talk again so soon?” Dumbledore asked, pulling up a chair to sit adjacent to the hat for whatever chat it might have in mind. 

“It’s about one of the new students… Dorian Beckett, I think he was called. A true Hufflepuff, if I ever saw one. But Albus, there was a problem,” the hat said, it’s folds moving as a mouth, and the expression giving off a grave appearance, despite the limitations of the medium. 

“Yes, I remember him. Lovely curls on that boy,” Dumbledore nodded, recalling all the details he could about the student in question- eleven, as most were, minor pureblood family, golden brown messy curls, average build and somewhat pale complexion, he’d looked nervous, then a bit dazed, “What’s the problem?”

“His lovely curls won’t be with us for long is the problem. Unless you do something. He had mixed feelings, you see. His family wanted a Slytherin, but he just wasn’t suited to it, Albus, and he didn’t want it. But he didn’t want to disappoint them. I’m afraid it’s quite serious, plans to hang himself, poor lad,” the hat explained, ending in a deep frown. 

“I see. Thank you for telling me, I’ll attend to it immediately,” Dumbledore nodded, going over to his desk to jot out a note to Professor Sprout to tell her to locate the boy and bring him to the office immediately. 

After sending out the missive, the weary headmaster sat down to consider how to approach this problem. What could he say that would take away the pain of being a disappointment to one’s family? What comfort could he give that would be genuine or well received? 

He was still deep in thought when Professor Sprout came up into the office, her hand bracingly on the shoulder of the young boy, who’s eyes were red from crying, but looked rather absent.

“There, there Beckett, you aren’t in trouble, see? I told you,” Professor Sprout said soothingly, patting him as she guided him to sit in the chair facing the desk. Looking up at the headmaster, her voice tightened and grew hushed, “Caught him making a noose. I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t worry, Pamona, I can handle it from here,” Dumbledore smiled warmly at her, hoping the expression was as reassuring as he wanted it to be- he’d long since grown used to how people wanted to trust him so completely to handle any conceivable situation, and he didn’t mind bearing that burden and pretending to be much more sure of himself. 

Her expression, in turn, became deep gratitude and she quickly scurried away, relieved to avoid dealing further with such an emotional mess. Dumbledore then turned to the student in question, looking concerned. At the vacant look in Dorain Beckett’s eyes, he assessed that he’d need to do some grounding before he was ready to talk. Quite alright, he knew just the thing. 

“Dorian?” Dumbledore requested his attention gently, smiling as he glanced up, “Would you care for a chocolate frog? Or maybe some lemon drops?”

The offer of candy was so unexpected, that Dorian felt a bit like crying. He’d expected that Dumbledore had somehow known what he was up to, people were always talking about how he knew everything, and he was in trouble. Or maybe his parents had found out already and had told Dumbledore to change the housing assignment. He didn’t think they could do that, but maybe they could. In any event, candy was the last thing on his mind, so it was able to break through the mental haze of dissociation. 

“Um, lemon drops, sir. Thank you,” a shaky smile appeared on his face as he extended a hand for the offered candy. 

“Lovely nails,” Dumbledore commented, glancing at the intricate manicure as he dropped several of his favorite candies into the outstretched palm. 

Dorian blushed as he looked at his fingernails, an abstract galaxy, a swirl of black, blue, and purple, with constellations painstakingly arranged in the tiniest specks of white. It had taken him the better part of three hours a few days ago. He was quite pleased to be at Hogwarts where he could use the anti-chipping charm his sister had shown him instead of counting on her not to tell their parents. 

“Thank you, sir,” he put a lemon drop in his mouth and let it start melting on his tongue, enjoying the fresh scent and mild sour flavor. 

Seeing that he was more capable of paying attention now, Dumbledore got down to business, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I sent for you,” he took a deep breath, “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been thinking deeply about the best thing to say and I haven’t come up with anything satisfactory. You’re here because I know that you’re thinking of ending your life and I don’t want you to do that. I want to work with you to come up with a better solution to your problem.”

Hearing it out plainly that way made Dorian acutely aware of his heart beating in his chest. His mouth went dry and he was even more grateful for the candy in it. He’d been thinking of killing himself for most of the summer, ever since his parents had gotten more insistent about the pressure to make the family proud. But it had always been an escape, getting away from that, or a punishment, for failing them. He’d never specifically thought of how it would mean his life would actually end. That was, well, to put it mildly, terrifying. 

Dumbledore smiled as he watched the student’s thoughts play over his face. It seemed being blunt and direct was the right thing to do. It alone was enough to make him consider the reality of that action. But labelling it wouldn’t be enough to prevent it later, when he was upset again. 

“You don’t have to do that. Ever. Nothing will ever be too big a problem to be fixed. And no mistake is ever worth your life, Dorian,” Dumbledore said, coming ‘round the desk to crouch in front of the student’s chair and look up into his face, as it had seemingly glued itself to the floor. 

“You are important, Dorian. You have great potential in so many ways. You don’t need to be limited by your family’s understanding or approval,” Dumbledore continued, speaking from his heart in such a way that he wondered if it wasn’t himself in years gone by that he was speaking to, “It’s okay to be a disappointment. But they have no right to be disappointed. You are a wonderful child.”

Tears gathered in Dorian’s eyes, but with the headmaster so close and attentive, there was nowhere to look to hide them. Surrendering to appearing weak, he let them roll down his cheeks, “You don’t know me,” his voice was a quivering mumble, struggling to get words past the sobs caught in his throat, “I can’t-” he broke off with a look of anguish, “I can’t be good enough!” With that, he flung himself forward into Dumbledore’s arms, ignoring for a moment that he’d only really met him a few minutes ago, and this demonstrative affection wouldn’t even be okay in his own family- in this moment all he could be was a child in pain and in need of reassurance from the person clearly willing to provide it. 

The sudden contact caught Dumbledore off guard, but he wrapped his arms gently around the boy, holding him close to his chest. He rubbed his back soothingly with one hand, patting the other on his silky curls. Although he was known to many people, and quite verbally affectionate, most people felt they should keep a certain distance, due to his status, or their own aloof nature. His more personal relationships had long since crumbled and he believed his last hug had been with Hagrid, when the groundskeeper had been quite drunk in a tavern in Hogsmeade a few years ago. 

“You’re right, I don’t know you. But I will. And I’m so excited to get the chance. Please don’t rob me of the opportunity to watch you grow, Dorian. You will be a magnificent wizard. I can already see you’ve a kind, gentle heart. That’s a wonderful guide to flourish in magic,” Dumbledore explained, smiling down at him, “And you’re good enough for me.”

Dorain’s crying continued, though more quietly as he worked his fingers into the fabric of his headmaster’s robes and nuzzled past his long beard to listen to his heartbeat. The reassurance and affirmation was almost too much to take in and he wanted desperately to believe it. But there was one, rather large obstacle. Dumbledore might know why being sorted the way he had had caused problems with his family, but he didn’t know the other thing that bothered them so. He clung to hope that it would be accepted as well, but his heart was full of a cold dread that it would get him pushed away. 

Mumbling quietly into his shoulder, Dorian confessed, “But I like boys…” fresh torrents of sobs tore from his throat, “I’m sorry!”

It was good that Dorian’s face was buried in his clothes because he missed the headmaster’s amused smile, something that could be easily misunderstood, given the circumstances. Dumbledore deftly gathered him more firmly into his arms and stood, carrying him back over to the desk chair to sit in his lap. Once seated, he rubbed Dorian’s back in soothing circles for a moment before requesting, “Look at me.”

Dorian did, pulling back and rubbing his eyes before raising them to meet Dumbledore’s, relieved to see only patience and acceptance looking back at him. 

“Dorian, there is nothing, whatsoever, wrong with that. Any love your heart should find, romantic or friends, boys, girls, or someone else entirely, any love is beautiful. And never let anyone tell you otherwise,” Dumbledore explained, his eyes gaining a slight mischievous twinkle, “If they do, you may tell them that I also like boys. Well, men now, at my age that makes a bit more sense.”

“You do?” Dorian’s eyes widen and a beaming grin split his face, he’d known he wasn’t totally alone, of course, there was a word for this, and he’d heard of other people, but he’d never imagined someone so, so good, and so important. His heart swelled with relief and gratitude at this connection. If someone like Albus Dumbledore of all people could have those feelings, surely he couldn’t be broken for them. 

“Yes. I do. It’s been many years since I’ve had a partner, but they were always male, here,” Dumbledore rummaged in a drawer for a small book of photographs, private ones, only for him to see in general. He turned to one of the first few pages and showed the student a picture of him as a boy, leaning against a beautiful youth with golden hair, their arms entwined, “He was my boyfriend,” he explained; there was, of course, no need to explain who that youth became, it was only necessary to show that they’d been happy.


	2. Chapter 2

Aside from regular visits to the headmaster’s office, starting with a short one each day, then working down to a couple times a week, and a longer visit with a snack on Sunday, Dorian began adjusting to life at Hogwarts like most other students his age. He attended classes, toting around a collection of heavy books. He got used to ghosts floating by as he walked the halls and learned to avoid Peeves if he didn’t want to risk being struck by whatever object he was throwing at that time. He tried to go unnoticed by most teachers, an effort that was a bit hindered by Dumbledore asking about him frequently. 

He avoided thinking about his parents for a couple weeks, reading the two letters he got with disinterest when they arrived and chucking them into the fireplace in the common room without considering a reply. They heard about his placement and were quite embarrassed, but didn’t have much to say regarding this except that he was still expected to keep his blood status in mind and do well in school. 

When a letter arrived one morning with a more urgent message, Dorian couldn’t help but seek out the comfort and advice he needed immediately. Leaving his place at the breakfast table, he quickly marched up to the table where the professors sat together and stopped directly in front of Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall, who had been explaining something to the headmaster stopped speaking and looked at him expectantly. He felt his cheeks flush crimson and hot and the words caught in his throat. 

“Did you want to speak to me, Dorian?” Dumbledore gently prompted with a smile. 

He nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak. He felt foolish for needing help and like he was too entitled for asking for it, especially of the headmaster, who was bound to be busy with much more important matters. 

Dumbledore nodded understandingly, then rose from his seat, pausing to glance at the head of Gryffindor, “If you’ll excuse me, Minerva, it seems that a student needs my assistance. I look forward to hearing further details of your trip some other time.”

McGonagall, in turn, nodded, smiling more pleasantly, “Of course,” she said simply, turning her attention back to her porridge. 

Dumbledore strode out from behind the table, placing a gentle hand on Dorian’s shoulder and guiding him out into the hallway, that they might speak in relative privacy. Once in place, he stopped in front of the young boy, bending down to be on level. The observant headmaster had noticed how much better Dorian paid attention and responded to him when he wasn’t towering over him like their natural height difference would make default. 

“Now, what’s the matter?” Dumbledore asked, scanning his face lightly for details about his mood, clearly Dorian was worried, and embarrassed, but that had happened after he’d come to speak with him. 

“I have to,” Dorian began explaining, voice small, barely over a mumble, “I have to go home this weekend. My sister’s birthday,” his eyes, which had been focused on his shoes, raised slightly to find Dumbledore’s, “I’m scared.”

The headmaster put his hands on Dorian’s shoulders, squeezing gently, a small physical gesture of his support. 

“Alright, well, we’ll have to make a plan, won’t we? I’ll think on it today, come join me for tea this evening,” he suggested. 

A small, grateful smile, and nod, “Okay. Thank you, Professor,” Dorian said, clearly put at ease by this.

“Regardless of what happens, I can promise you that you will be alright, and you are good,” Dumbledore added seriously, looking him directly in the eye; this wasn’t quite accurate, he didn’t know for certain that he would be alright, any number of things were possibilities, but it was more important to reassure him and give him strength for what was sure to be some unpleasant interaction. He was more certain of the latter claim, after getting to know this student, he knew that Dorian Beckett was a sweet, kind, sensitive boy, with a rather unique perspective on things. He was really quite innocent and his natural love for people had seemed to protect him from the more unpleasant parts of his parents’ ideology. From talking to his teachers, he had a way with creatures that Professor Grubblyplank praised, and he was a conscientious note taker, very well behaved in class. He had a knack for charms. 

After a quick, nearly imperceptible glance around, Dorian leaned forward and hugged Dumbledore in a fleeting but clingy embrace before stepping back. He was nervous about obvious affection, but craved the connection. For his part, the headmaster didn’t mind at all and hugged him back happily, being rather accustomed to his general behavior now. 

“Now, you best run along to class, you don’t want to be late for Charms,” Dumbledore suggested, straightening up, and running a hand down over his beard. 

Dorian nodded and began the trek to class, worrying considerably less. 

Dumbledore, however, rose and turned around, coming within an inch of bumping into Snape as he did so, “Ah, Severus,” he smiled politely, wondering why he hadn’t noticed him, but not all that concerned. 

“Headmaster,” Snape’s tone was low and drawn, with the slightest edge of curiosity, or was it skepticism? “Will you walk with me? We have something to… discuss.”

“Of course, Severus,” Dumbledore nodded, swinging ‘round to stand at the younger man’s side as they began a stroll through the corridors; he had accepted that he was never going to return to his eggs, but that’s the expected cost of living where you work with tons of people in need of your time and attention. 

Once they were sufficiently alone, Severus glanced at him, studying him carefully through strands of black hair that partially obscured his peripheral vision. Dumbledore continued looking mildly pleasant and interested, waiting for the potion’s master to make plain the topic of discussion. 

“You know, people are beginning to… talk, don’t you?” he launched in, “About inappropriate things. It’s not like you to take such an intense interest. And it’s not helping those other whispers about you.”

“People are quite inclined to talk, aren’t they? I’m afraid I’m not always inclined to listen, Severus. Such gossip is rarely of consequence or credibility,” his smile was slightly mirthful, though there was a hint of the inward sigh; of course people would be speculating about any potential inappropriate activities. 

“That’s reassuring, but it isn’t doing wonders for your reputation, however unfounded it may be,” Snape continued, “A man in your position-”

“-Must be careful to avoid indiscretion, of course, Severus, but I wonder who would turn concern for a vulnerable student into something more sinister? You’ll defend me, of course. And why don’t I make it easier for you? Join us for tea tonight, then you’ll be able to give testimony as to my seeming intentions,” Dumbledore suggested, patting the younger man on the arm, “We’ll have a grand evening.”

“Of course, sir,” Snape inclined his head respectfully, rather not looking forward to the assumed boredom of the affair, but understanding that it would solve the problem; such rumours could only flourish in mystery and without the cloak of seclusion and privacy, the facts would be laid bare. 

“Ah, well, now that that’s settled, I do have business to attend to. And you have class to prepare for, this is your only free period, isn’t it?” Dumbledore stepped away, angling to face him that he might go back the way they came once this conversation concluded. 

“Yes. I’ll go prepare my lessons,” Snape agreed, heading down towards the dungeons. 

The day went by rather quickly for Dorian, who, after a quite interesting charms lesson, which he openly enjoyed, spent most of the day taking careful notes and immersing himself in school work to avoid too much focus on the buzzing anxiety occupying the back of his brain. He kept his schoolbooks with him to work on homework through dinner, though he did make sure to sit near the nice boy who’d lent him a quill in the common room earlier that week, he thought he remembered that his name was Cedric. 

At the appointed time, quarter ‘til eight, as was their standing arrangement, Dorian arrived at Dumbledore’s office, looking with surprise and a slight bit of nervousness to find Professor Snape, hardly an inviting presence there. 

“Oh, sir, I can come back later?” he asked, looking between them. 

“No, no,” Dumbledore smiled, gesturing for him to come sit, the very picture of welcome, and much more at ease than either of his tea companions, “I just asked Severus to join us this evening. I do hope that’s alright. I worry about him getting lonely down in the dungeons.”

Snape’s mouth set into an even firmer grim line, but he supposed that the headmaster could hardly tell the boy he was their chaperone for ensuring that everyone would be aware of the propriety of the relationship. Pulling his cloak more snugly around him, he inclined his head, an attempt at a grateful gesture. 

“Yes, thank you, headmaster. I brought sweets,” he motioned toward the table where there were a few trays of various cakes and a pot of tea.

“Oh…” Dorian nodded, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, “Um, thank you?” he looked back at Dumbledore for further cues as to how to react; the truth was that Professor Snape made him quite nervous, he never said anything in his class, and he’d rather hoped that the imposing man had not yet noticed him, but now he found himself in a social situation with him, which was awkward at best, terrifying at worst, however, Dumbledore was here, so perhaps it would be alright. 

Dumbledore smiled and waved him down to sit in the chair opposite Snape’s, across the table, then seated himself between them, pouring tea in each mug, “Now then, how was your day today, Severus?” he asked pleasantly. 

“Fine,” Snape’s tone made it clear that he wasn’t interested in small talk, but he did take his tea and sip it, “Thank you.”

“You’ll have to forgive him, Dorian, he’s not really very social much of the time. What about your day? Did it go well?” Dumbledore chuckled lightly, accepting him as he was, as always. 

“Yes, sir. It was pretty good. I really enjoyed my charms lesson,” he nodded, “And um,” he glanced at Snape, “Potions was interesting too. A girl boiled her cauldron over and got everything on our table wet though.”

“I told you all, you must reduce heat as soon as the mixture turns purple or it will bubble,” Snape sighed, remembering the mess from this afternoon, “Count yourself fortunate that it wasn’t something caustic.”

Dorian nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

“Ah, how interesting,” Dumbledore nodded, “One time, when I was experimenting a bit with brewing, I must have been, I don’t know, in my teens, I turned an entire oak desk silver when my concoction bubbled out of my cauldron. It was the strangest slime I’d ever seen,” he laughed, “It wiggled and seeped into the wood. And smelled for all the world like a roast beef.”

Snape’s rather grave demeanor slipped then as he smirked at the idea, “What on earth were you making?”

“I think I was trying to reverse engineer something to function as a Pensieve. It didn’t work, of course,” Dumbledore laughed, smiling happily at the memory. 

Dorian’s question was clear on his face, how could someone so talented joke about a failure? Why would he ever bring it up?

Dumbledore answered as though it had been asked aloud, “Don’t misunderstand. I’ve failed much in my life. In important ways that I still feel sorrow for and ways like this that are entirely unimportant. If I couldn’t laugh about it, I wouldn’t try nearly as many things, and I wouldn’t have learned so much.”

The young boy smiled at that, wondering if the same would apply to him. His father was always saying “Beckett’s don’t fail.” It was practically the family motto. But one of the very best wizards in the world laughed about his own failure. 

“Greatness isn’t measured by lack of mistakes,” Snape interjected, sounding slightly less bored, “Only a fool would see it that way. The successes are all that matter. And reactions to the mistakes, I suppose. It’s much easier to shame someone who’s ashamed of himself.” 

“A kinder way to say that might be that if you have love for yourself and faith in your goodness, it’s much harder for someone to hurt you,” Dumbledore smiled, selecting a cake from the tray and placing it in his mouth. 

“A more accurate rephrase would be that if you’re confident, it’s harder to damage your reputation,” Snape countered. 

Dorian couldn’t help but giggle at the obvious presentation of what he assumed to be generally true in the differences in their personalities. Their responses mirrored this with Dumbledore chuckling along with a smile and Snape looking the slightest bit displeased. 

“True, Severus, that is closer to what you meant,” the older man acknowledged, “But down to business. The topic for discussion tonight is how to prepare young Dorian here for a rather unpleasant trip home, as his family is displeased with his housing placement and with his orientation.”

Snape hid his surprise at the rather direct mention of the second issue and took a sip of tea before taking the cue that it was to be talked about, and commenting “His orientation? I hardly see how that’s any of their concern in the first place, let alone to be upset about. Hm.”

“Yes, I’m quite inclined to agree. But parents are unfortunately in the habit of enforcing their ideals upon their children, aren’t they?” Dumbledore sighed. 

“I don’t know that I’d know anything about that,” Snape shrugged, drinking more of his tea. 

“No? Perhaps not. Childhoods do leave different scars-” he cut off as Snape sat his cup down rather sharply, giving him a piercing glare, certain things were not to be talked about without total privacy. 

“But it would be better if they left none,” Dumbledore continued smoothly, as though this had been what he’d been intending to say in the first place, “So, how do we make sure young Dorian gets through this weekend unscathed?”

“It’s not that serious…” Dorian mumbled, “I’m just… scared. My dad.. He’s mad.”

“A boy should never have to be afraid of his father,” Snape snapped, his anger bubbling under a calm mask, albeit a bit misdirected; he didn’t like the reminder. 

“If it’s serious enough to scare you, it’s serious enough to deal with. And Severus is right, of course. Now, you’re going home for the birthday party, right? What’s the time table?” Dumbledore asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to helpful planning as opposed to anything Snape would find upsetting. 

After taking a large gulp of tea, Dorian began to explain, “We’re to be collected from Hogsmeade by our mother on Friday evening, her birthday party with friends and neighbors is Saturday afternoon, her birthday luncheon with just family is Sunday midday, and we’ll be brought back on Sunday evening.”

Snape nodded, leaning forward and thinking it through, “With them being so frequently occupied, perhaps you could be effectively invisible for the duration of your stay? At which points will contact be forced?”

Dumbledore’s encouraging smile had a sad undercurrent. He could see the years of experience behind the younger man’s thought process. Avoiding mistreatment was a valuable skill- that no one should ever have to perfect. 

“Breakfast and lunch on Saturday and I think my father will want to have a talk with me when we first get home. I haven’t been responding to their letters…” Dorian admitted, looking down at his fingernails; this time the small canvases were covered in a somewhat dull, earthy green base with dazzling emerald vines sprouting impeccably decorated leaves and a single pink flower on each nail that sported a pressed in yellow stone in the center.

Snape appeared to be thinking deeply, so Dumbledore took the chance to respond, “Whatever he says, remember that you’re good and you don’t deserve his cruelty. What all will he want to talk about?”

“He’s mad that I’m a Hufflepuff. And, well, he’s been writing about how I should be conducting myself and, um, hiding who I am. He probably wants to yell at me about that and lecture me about how to talk to girls and stuff,” Dorian fidgeted in his chair, he didn’t want to consider this deeply. 

Dumbledore nodded, “Alright. You can tell him that I’m gay as well, but that will probably just lead to surface admission that it’s not immoral, but emphasis on it not being appropriate for a member of your family, or some such nonsense. A well placed lie can be a very good shield, young friend, but you shouldn’t have to, of course.”

“Will he hurt you?” Snape filled the pause while Dorian considered what Dumbledore had said. 

“No! I mean- I don’t think so... I’m not sure though,” Dorian sighed, “Stupid Ionna and her birthday… I like it here.”

“Do you want this to go as smoothly as possible or do you want to be honest and yourself at home?” Snape asked.

“Am I bad if I just want it to be easy?” Dorian asked in return, looking at Dumbledore instead, reaching up with this sleeve to wipe his eyes before the gathering tears could fall. 

“Of course not,” Dumbledore smiled, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, “You aren’t bad for anything you do to be safe, Dorian. It’s alright. If you don’t think he’ll be convinced to be kinder to you, or if now isn’t the time for that fight, I’d even advise specifically trying to make it easier on yourself.”

“That’s more easily planned for anyway. In the initial conversation you will agree with anything and everything he says. You will apologize where expected and try to persuade him that you believe him about yourself. You will, however, not believe him at all. From there, you will limit contact as much as possible and shift focus to your sister’s birthday wherever possible. Limiting contact will mean going to bed as early as possible and getting up as late as possible. Feigning ill may be a good idea, if you can be convincing. Also, it may be a good idea to invent some assignments to do that way you have a good excuse for being busy and unable to be disturbed for as much time as possible. If you are uncomfortable lying about it, I would be willing to assign you some very lengthy, time consuming extra credit,” Snape rattled off a plan efficiently and Dorian took great comfort in having such well spelled out instructions. 

Dumbledore smiled, pleased with the potion’s master for taking such an interest in helping the boy, “Excellent, Severus. That should work as well as anything will. And Dorian, if you are in danger, you ought to send word and I’ll try to have someone collect you early, alright? We want you to be safe.”

Dorian nodded, then stifled a yawn behind his hand, he was rather emotionally exhausted from the worry and conversation, and now that a plan had been made, he was relieved and ready for some rest. 

A knowing smile touched Dumbledore’s lips, “You may retire for the night, I’m sure you’re tired. Check in with me at breakfast tomorrow though, I’ll want to be assured that you’re doing alright.”

“Thanks Professor,” the boy stood up, stepped close and quickly hugged him, as was the usual routine for concluding their visits. Slightly embarrassed that this had to be in front of his teacher as well, he exited without looking at Snape at all.


	3. Chapter 3

After the boy had gone, Snape glanced at Dumbledore, mulling his thoughts for just a moment before saying, “Well, that was… odd. But nothing improper. Good. I should be going?”

“You can stay if you want to, Severus,” Dumbledore smiled faintly, going to a cabinet and selecting a small bottle of alcohol, “if you’d like to indulge together?” he asked, holding it aloft. 

The truth was that the visit and conversation had stirred up quite a few bad memories for the potion’s master, and he was in no hurry to be alone with his thoughts. However, that wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to admit. 

“Well, if you’d prefer I stay, I don’t have anything pressing to attend to. Thank you, sir,” he replied with an air of dismissiveness, but not enough as to come across as disrespectful. 

“Ah, thank you. It’s very nice to have your company,” Dumbledore smiled, nodding as he poured them each a glass; he knew Severus needed it to be at his request and he was happy to acquiesce. He found himself in this position often enough with the young man, for he’d not yet learned to accept his feelings being anything he thought of as weak, so he couldn’t admit that he needed anyone in that way. The headmaster wondered briefly how much in his life he had transformed to be what someone else needed, he was happy to always, but it made for a rather unique sense of self.

Dumbledore pressed a glass into Snape’s hand and rejoined him at the table before lifting his own to his lips. The searing alcohol burned over his tongue and down his throat, but he didn’t shy away from the feeling. He sighed in content at the aching pain in his throat, so similar to the one he often felt lower- that pang of longing and regret. Snape drank his glass in one gulp and smirked a bit as Dumbledore idly refilled it with his wand. 

“You’re too young to feel so old, Severus,” Dumbledore smiled, “I’m sure you have regrets, but you have so much time.”

“You’re too good to feel so bad,” the potion’s master countered, his perceptive nature picking up all of his cues, as always, “You’re nearly a saint.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore laughed, honestly a bit caught off guard at the younger man’s direct answering of his thoughts, “But it’s not my actions I’m feeling now, just what’s in my heart.”

Snape looked quizzically at him, uncertain as to what specifically he may be referencing, “What’s in your heart? Am I to think there’s something darker than you’ve shared?”

“Darker? Not really. Foolish more like. A love that should have long been over,” he sighed, “I regret so much of that time, but I just can’t bring myself to regret him.”

“Him?” a mild question, complete with furrowed brow. 

“Surely you’ve heard the stories about me and Gellert? Grindelwald, I mean,” Dumbledore glanced over skeptically, raising his line of sight above his spectacles to see the other’s face plainly. 

“Well, of course, but I assumed they were… stories. Only. He was your-?” Severus frowned, finding this information somewhat distasteful. 

“Lover, yes,” Dumbledore chuckled at Snape’s expression, “Yes, we were lovers. I’m sorry if it disgusts you, Severus.”

Quickly composing himself, Snape downed another glass, “It doesn’t disgust me. I’m just… unaccustomed, to hearing that spoken of so plainly. I don’t have a problem with it. It’s just, odd to hear that way.”

Dumbledore nodded, sighing sadly, “Of course. I understand. The world has changed, but not overly much in some ways,” he drained his own glass, filling it up again, along with Snape’s. 

“You still love him though? Even after-?” Snape pressed, shifting the focus. 

“Always,” the twinkle in his eye made Severus blush, even before he added, “You know that feeling, don’t you?”

He nodded silently. Eyes downcast. Of course he did, but she was perfect. She’d been so kind to him. The man Dumbledore loved, well, he guessed he didn’t know anything about him personally, but he’d been a terrible person. Then again, why would that matter to a heart? They drank in silence for nigh on to twenty minutes, speaking again only when the edges of this harsh reality began to blur. 

“Severus, do you trust me?” Dumbledore’s voice was tinged with pain and slightly slurred, heavy. 

Ignoring the brief nervousness that rose in his abdomen, Snape met his gaze calmly, focusing through the wateriness of his peripheral vision, “Implicitly.”

Fortunately the space between them was no more than a step, as Dumbledore wobbled slightly when he rose, then leaned down over Snape in his chair and kissed him. He had a lot of reasons for doing this, each one thought out and implications considered, but the bottom line was that he was lonely and he knew the younger man was too. They both would rather be with someone else, but their people had long since faded from their lives, one in death’s embrace, the other in a cell in Nuremgard, which Albus desperately needed not to think about. 

Snape froze for a split second, surprised and uncertain, but then kissed him back. He understood the question now. He trusted Dumbledore, which meant that he was sure that he’d considered if this was something he’d want or not before starting it. Dumbledore apparently thought this was a good idea and he’d be happy with it, and he was more than willing to take that on faith. 

“Follow me,” Dumbledore rose, taking Snape by the arm and guiding him to his bedchamber; the younger man felt it a relief not to think and followed him without comment. 

They tumbled into bed together, all tangling robes and limbs. Dumbledore began undressing his partner for the night, using his fingers to find his way, closing his eyes to envision golden hair, a laughing smile, a beautiful body. 

“Close your eyes,” he directed, “Imagine her.”

That prompt was all that was necessary for Snape to do all that was implied. Relaxing back into the pillows, he splayed out in front of the headmaster, allowing him to remove his clothing and do whatever else he liked. Closing his eyes as well, he imagined small, quick hands, manicured fingers, touching his skin. He saw her smiling face, imagined her voice. Tears seeped from under his eyelids as the words he so desperately wanted her to say wouldn’t come because she’d never said them. 

Dumbledore deftly stripped him, smooth hands finding their way between his legs and gently stroking. His body responded quickly, stiffening and swelling as he imagined her touching him all the same ways. As he knelt on the bed, taking Snape into his mouth, a tear trailed down his cheek, remembering the boredom of hot summers so very long ago, passing time in musty attics and forest clearings, smelling the sun on his lover’s skin, and teasing him; they’d been so happy.   
Snape spread his legs wider, moving away from the feeling of Dumbledore’s beard against his inner thighs. Once that dissonance was resolved, he lost himself in the fantasy. He felt her breath whisper against his skin, felt her tongue drawing moans from him, felt her thumbs pressed gently into his hips. He could see her eyes looking up at him. It was beautiful. 

Dumbledore felt his lover in the twist of the younger man’s hips, writhing so similarly. The moans were quieter, but he mentally amplified them. His mouth was fuller, but the size wasn’t so different. The taste was sharper, but only just. He constructed his fantasy around that as well as he could. His penis was larger than usual, simply because it was more swollen. He wanted him more; it had been so long. The taste had changed for the same reason. And he was being quiet so they wouldn’t be overheard. His bed in Hogwarts was replaced with the one from his youth, smaller. And he could almost smell the honeysuckle out the open window. Every detail had been catalogued and he could nearly feel himself there, present in times gone by. His hair red again, his skin smooth, and so much energy. 

Snape reached orgasm suddenly with a gasp and a buck of his hips, “Oh Lily,” he moaned, her name escaping his lips tenderly. 

Pulling away, Dumbledore swallowed and wiped his mouth. He didn’t look at his friend for a moment, just levitated their glasses to the bedside table and drained his once again. 

“When you’re ready Severus,” he requested quietly, “I’d like to be beneath you.”

Snape grabbed for his glass and drained the contents before nodding, “Yes, just a moment.”

Dumbledore disrobed, grabbing a small bottle of slippery liquid from the drawer in the bedside table. Applying the lubricant potion with his fingers, he smiled as he felt the familiar relaxation of all muscles that came in contact with it, easing the process of penetration considerably. It was a staple of his solo activities and his movements were practiced and smooth as he prepared himself, before lying down across the bed. 

Snape had never done this specific act before and he hesitated slightly before moving behind him. 

“It isn’t that different, and I’m quite ready,” Dumbledore explained, closing his eyes, “You may hold onto my hips for support.”

The younger man nodded, and leaned over him, lining up to push inside. Setting up a swift rhythm, he closed his eyes as well, enjoying the tightness around him. Mentally replacing the buttocks and hips he could feel, he realized he’d never seen that much of her body. It wasn’t hard to guess though, he’d enjoyed many a fantasy and though it lacked detail, it was more than enough to please him. 

Dumbledore trembled beneath him, finding it a bit overwhelming to be touched so intimately again. He imagined grass beneath him, so clearly he could smell its sweet freshness. He imagined that the reason his eyes were closed was that the sun was so bright and warm on his skin, this was aided by the alcohol in his system. Larger, rougher hands would be on his hips, though the rhythm would be much the same. 

“Gellert,” mumbling moans tore from his lips, “My sweet Gellert,” he reached down between his legs and stroked himself in time with Snape’s thrusting. 

Part of him wished this fantasy could last forever, as it was much more vivid with someone else here, even better than nights spent with the Mirror of Erised. But his body sought release quickly despite that inconvenient longing. Spilling his fluids over his hand, more tears escaped his eyes at the same time, “I love you.”

Snape pulled away and cleaned them both with a flick of his wand. Slurring slightly and dreading the expected answer, “I should go, sir?”

Dumbledore swept back the blankets on the bed and gestured to invite Snape to lie down beside him, “No, stay,” it wasn’t an order, or really a request, it was something in the middle, but he would respect refusal, of course. 

Snape was grateful that it wasn’t a question as it allowed him to extend not thinking about much, he lied down next to the older man, gently pressing against him. 

After a few moments of silent snuggling, Dumbledore looked over at the potion’s master, with a bit more clarity than before, “My, what a situation we’ve found ourselves in, my friend,” he chuckled, “But it was good. Thank you.”

Snape smiled back, inhibition being without point at present, “Yes, it was. Thank you.”

“Good night, Severus, do have pleasant dreams.”

“You too.”


End file.
